Je ne sais pas
by SteeeeeeeveWatson
Summary: Title is irrelevant please suggest titles! Watson turns up at Holmes' door, looking more harassed than usual. Why is this? Read and you can know. *nods* Shelock Holmes is not mine, nor is Watson or anyone else. Sadly.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi guys!!! This fic involves implied Hotson and character death. Definite Mary/Watson, and lots of lovely angst. Because I can't write happy things... maybe I'm warped? Ah well. This doesn't belong to me. Well the fic does. The characters on the other hand are not mine. Sadly. Please read and reveiw, and suggest titles. I am also always open to suggestions for storyline don't assume I'm organised enoug to plan that before starting writing XD. Anyway... I think that's all. Enjoy!! And read Santaii's stuff as well she is amazing!!**

Mrs Hudson sighed to herself as the doorbell caused her to drop yet another stitch. She had not made any progress with her knitting that day to a series of unfortunate interruptions, one of which being that fool Holmes setting fire to his own shirt during an experiment she had not been brave enough to enquire about, and now the insistent ringing of the door bell was beginning to get on her nerves. She stood up and hurried tpo the door. 'No need to ring four times… If this is someone calling for Dr. Watson again I shall be furious… four this week… honestly, he hasn't lived here for almost two years now, you'd think people would… anyway….'

She stopped ranting as she reached the door, composing herself before opening it. She smiled falsely,

'How may I he….' She stared at the man leaning on the door post. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his clothes dishevelled. His cheeks were red from running, but the rest of his face was pale and gaunt. Mrs. Hudson did a double take, as she realised who the man before her was.

'Dr. Watson!' She exclaimed.

'Whatever has happened… Are you quite alright?'

Watson was breathing heavily, one hand on his right thigh, the other on the door frame he was using for support. He shook his head, speaking quietly.

'No time… I need… Holmes.' He spoke slowly head still bowed. Mrs. Hudson nodded briefly before turning into the house and going up to Holmes' room.

She knocked sharply three times.

'Mr. Holmes?'

'One minute, nanny !!' came the reply.

'I am on the edge of a brilliant discovery!!'

She cleared her throat,

'Doctor Watson is here to see you. He says it's urgent…'

The door opened, and Holmes poked his head around it.

'Tell Watson if he needs to speak to me he can come…' Holmes stopped speaking as he saw his friend's ashen face, and desperate expression.

'Coming.' He closed the door for a moment before opening it properly and running down the stairs, revolver in hand, coat on.

'Where are we going?' Holmes asked as they sat in the back of a carriage.

'You said 151 Queen's street… Who lives there?' Watson rolled his eyes, but spoke quietly.

'I do.' His voice was eerily calm, calmer than usual. Holmes had been expecting the usual

'I've lived there for two years now Holmes, I thought you were good at noticing things…' This calm voice was unexpected. Wrong. Something had happened. He looked over his friend, trying to find something, anything, to explain this uncharacteristic silence. He started at the top.

Head: No hat. Probably left in a hurry, no time to get it. Hair ruffled, not as neat as usual, something more important than personal appearance made him forget. Possibly ran to Baker Street.

Face: Eyes wider than usual, blinking rarely. Trying to appear calm, not allowing self to express emotions. Mouth twitching slightly, yet more evidence of concealed emotions. Perspiration on forehead. Must have run here.

Clothes: Less neat than usual. Still in morning dress at three in the afternoon, must have gone home after an appointment, then left in a hurry. Something happened at home. Mary? It could have been an argument, but then… He wouldn't want Holmes to come over. He looked out of the window, watching the spectrum of browns and greys that were London pass them by. He hadn't said he wanted Holmes when he was talking to Mrs Hudson. He'd needed Holmes. And it was urgent. Was Mary sick? No. Watson was a doctor. Holmes couldn't help with that… So Mary was… His eyes widened, not quite trusting his instincts.

'Holmes?'

Watson's quiet voice brought him out of his head, and he looked back at his friend. Watson sat perfectly still, watching Holmes, his hands were clasped in his lap, and he was wringing them nervously.

'Watson I…' Holmes spoke arkwardly, still not trusting himself entirely. Watson raised an eyebrow.

'You…?'

'Watson, I think I know what… Mary… is she…?' Watson flinched as he heard his wife's name… He remained silent for a moment, breathing in slowly. He exhaled, his breath ragged, before closing his eyes, and saying

'Yes. If you mean is she…' He trailed off as the carriage stopped outside his house. He climbed out of the carriage, and unlocked the front door, but instead of carrying on into his house he paused waiting for Holmes to go in first.

'She's in there.' He murmured, still not going into his house, gesturing to the second door on the left. Holmes opened the afore mentioned door, expecting the worst.

The scene before him wasn't the devastating blood bath he had expected Mary lay on the sofa, perfectly still, almost peaceful, but her skin was deathly pale. As Holmes moved closer he saw bruising around her neck, and oblong bruises around both her wrists. Finger marks. He breathed in slowly, unsure of how to react. He began to look around the room, checking every corner for evidence of a struggle. He was so engrossed in what he was doing he failed to notice Watson walking into the room. His friend sat down slowly in an arm chair beside the hearth, facing away from the sofa. 'Holmes?' his voice wavered slightly as he spoke, betraying his true emotions, 'I need to hire you…'


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi again guys… Sorry about this chapters shortness and content. Tis a bit of an admin chapter, some stuff needed to be sorted out before I could continue with the story and I didn't want to introduce any new themes, plot points etc without giving them a new chapter. But yes… this chapter is admin. But I did put a bit of angst in the middle to make it less dull. **

**Warnings: Character death, mild Hotson if you take it that way, but it could just be friendyness. You decide ^^ Thank you for all your reviews, they have been most helpful. I still want title suggestions as I haven't found one that fits yet, so if you could give me some more I would be very grateful. **

**Much love to all my readers. Read Kaizuko-taii's stuff it rocks!!! And Santaii's stuff… enough adverts. No. Wait. Undertheapfelbaum is also a brilliant writer whose stories I would recommend. **

**Xxx**

**Wessi**

Holmes shook his head. 'No.' Watson turned to face him, mortified. 'What? What do you mean? Holmes… my wife is… I _need_ you.' Holmes sighed. 'You can't hire me. I'm not taking your money. I will, however, take the case.' Watson smiled weakly, 'You've never had any qualms about taking my money before.' Holmes grinned to himself. Watson would be alright, he had a case to work on, and maybe…

'Watson?' Watson raised an eyebrow.

'Would you like to stay with me, for now, that is, I don't…'

Watson interrupted Holmes 'That would be nice, thank you.' It was silent for a moment, both men wrapped in their own thoughts, Watson gazing blankly into the fire. Holmes wandered around the room, looking for evidence. He hesitated for a moment before turning back to his friend.

'Watson?' Watson turned from the fire. 'I need you to do…'

Watson sighed, cutting Holmes off.

'Time of death around three pm. I would initially assume strangulation judging by the bruising around the neck and wrists, however on further inspection it would appear that the bruising is not as extensive as would be expected, and there is no sign of a struggle. I would speculate that …' he paused for a second, breathing slowly, '… the victim…' he paused again, collecting his thoughts, 'was force-fed some sort of paralytic that caused the suffocation.'

Holmes nodded. 'I'll test for common paralytics, there should be some sort of residue…'

There was a knock on the door.

Watson stood up, purposefully staring at the floor as he walked past the sofa on which his wife lay. He opened the door to reveal Le Strade, cheeks red from the cold. 'What seems to be the problem doctor?' Watson said nothing, gesturing towards the living room. He watched as three policemen walked into his house, before stepping out of the front door and closing it quietly.

He sat on the front door step, head in hands. He didn't know what to do. It was… over. He had tried though. He had got married, and they had been trying to conceive. But now it was… over.

Back to normal.

He shook his head violently, ridding himself of that thought. It wasn't back to normal at all. He hated the fact that he couldn't escape the life he had with Holmes. He had just wanted to settle down, to have an ordinary life. After serving in the army he had meant to settle down, set up his own practice, but he had been side tracked by Holmes, and adventure. And it had been fun. It still was, but he needed some security; something to come home to. Things had been working… But now that was over. Of course it wasn't going to last. He wouldn't ever settle down, or have a normal life, he reflected bitterly. Holmes had well and truly trapped him.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear; Holmes opened the door slightly and poked his head round.

'Are you alright old-boy? We can go back to Baker street now if you want, the police are finishing off. I've got everything I need now.' He held up a small bag. Watson smiled slightly. Holmes was sparing him. He knew the kind of things that would be in the bag. The kind of things Holmes would enjoy carrying obviously to gain suspicious looks from strangers; Locks of hair, skin, sometimes even fingers, wallpaper or paint, chunks of masonry… the usual. He rose slowly, legs a little shakey.

'I need to speak to the police.' He walked into the house, spoke quietly with Le Strade, before leaving again. He walked out of the house past Holmes, and started towards Baker street.


End file.
